


Big Brothers Are Awesome

by Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack Fic, Crossdressing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-27
Updated: 2008-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Watching Sam, Dean reflects that you wouldn't expect such lightness and grace from someone in those shit-kicking boots.</i></p><p>You might expect it from someone in that floaty dress, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Brothers Are Awesome

**Author's Note:**

> Cracktastic Supernatural version of the Firefly ep 'Safe'.

The dancers dip and swirl in a complex pattern. Sam joins them, following the steps easily despite never having danced this before. Watching him, Dean reflects that you wouldn't expect such lightness and grace from someone in those shit-kicking boots.

You might expect it from someone in that floaty dress, though.

Dean has no fucking idea how they ended up here in this boondock town in the middle of a Mayday dance, and even less idea how Sam came to be prancing around in a skirt and -oh god - shorts that cling to him like a second skin. Possession was his first thought, of course, but he's sprinkled Sam with enough holy water to exorcise half of hell and run through every holy name he can think of. None of it has made any difference - the only time Sam flinched at all was when the cold water ran down the back of his neck. Then he started whining about wanting to join the party and Dean was so flustered by the whole affair he actually gave in. Now Sam's out there like a whirling dervish and Dean's sulking on the sidelines. He's desperate for a beer, but it seems that's something the dancing hicks aren't about to provide. Still, he might as well get some fun out of the whole fucked up affair. He pulls out his camera phone and starts collecting blackmail material, muttering Christos and Adonai as he does so in case the old myths about photos getting at your soul somehow are right. Sam keeps dancing, so Dean concludes that whatever's going on here, it's not possession. Maybe his brother's just finally taken leave of his sense. Or maybe what Dean's been saying for years is right after all and Sam's just a big pussy. Whatever - Dean just wishes Sammy hadn't decided that it was time to start wearing frills and gym knickers on the day they'd wound up in redneckville.

Mind you, now Dean comes to think of it, noone else seems phased by his brother's choice of clothes. In fact, that's the freakiest bit of the whole affair. He and Sam had shown up here tracking a Humbabu, which they'd found and killed pretty easily. Beheaded it right in front of the town store, which is usually the recipe for a whole other brand of trouble, in Dean's experience. A Humbalu is just human-looking enough that people are liable to start thinking 'murder' rather than 'that power station sure does do crazy things to the local wildlife', and Dean had anticipated some smooth talking and possibly a fast getaway. Instead they'd been greeted with arms open and the next thing Dean knows he wound up here, in the middle of this bigass party. With his brother, mysteriously, dressed like a cross between a frontier housewife and a competitor in the Tour-de-France. Hell, nobody but Dean blinking an eye at that is even crazier than their nonchalent attitude towards the friendly neighbourhood monster.

Dean's still puzzling over this when they put the bag over his head.

* * * * *

Dean wakes up in the shittiest little hovel he's ever had the misfortune of smelling. He surges to his feet, reaching straight for the gun in his coat... which isn't there. He keeps right on moving anyway, shifting into a fighting stance and glaring around for the nearest threat.

The only threat in the room turns out to be Sammy, still in the babydoll outfit and regarding him solemnly from behind his bangs. Dean notices a decided lack of bumps and bruises and concludes that however his brother got here, it didn't involve being coshed over the head. Fucker.

Then he notices the red stain spreading over the front of Sam's dress. He's shifting from 'What the fuck?' to full on panic when Sam gives him a loopy-faced grin and says, 'Berries. I picked them for you.' He lifts his skirt and pours a pile of mulberries onto the table. Dean's so overcome by the mixed emotions of realising his brother's not bleeding out and realising that Sammy's finally gone wrong in the head that for a minute all he can think to do is pick up one of the fruits and press it into his brother's mouth.

'They're not poison,' Sam says, sounding vaguely accusatory. The tone of injured innocence snaps Dean back to his senses.

'Sam! What the FUCK is going on, dude? I'm getting hit over the head and dragged around redneck country, and all you can do is float around in a skirt and pick BERRIES?'

Sam shrugs. 'They liked the way you handled that Humbalu. And I like the skirt. I thought you would've been pleased by the berries.'

Dean picks at the berries distractedly. 'Yeah, well, I'd be a lot more pleased if I knew who dragged me here and coincidentally made you totally insane. There's some fucking freaky mojo going on here, baby brother.'

He starts looking round for a weapon. Sam lies down on the bed and falls asleep.

* * * * *

 

Dean's still trying to figure out if it's worth pulling a chair to bits to make a club - the wood's flimsy as all hell, but any weapon's better than nothing - when a woman appears in the doorway, carrying a bowl of water and a bottle of disinfectant.

'Let me have a look at that head,' she says calmly.

Dean springs to his feet. 'Hang on a minute, lady. You don't cosh people over the head and cart them off to Godforsaken, Nowhere and then just show up with the bandages. What the fuck do you think you're doing with us?'

The woman looks at him as if she faces a raving Winchester brandishing a chair every day of the week.

'We've got a monster problem in this village. You showed up next town over and killed the biggest menace around that way before you even ate lunch. We thought you were the kind of young man we needed around the place.'

'So what, you thought popping a bag over my head and dragging me up here was the best way of going about it? You didn't think to ask?'

She shrugs. 'That's how it is here - there's not much comes this way without we take it. Last year, they needed builders, went and took two men. Five years ago, they needed a doctor.'

'So let me guess, they went and took one?'

'Went and took me.'

'And you just accepted that?'

The woman shrugs again and presses her hand to Dean's shoulder, trying to bring him down low enough that she can look at his head wound. 'Don't choose to leave. There's people here need me.'

Dean sinks bewilderedly down onto the bed and submits to her treatment. He'd like to ask why the hell these people can't get their medical treatment in the hospital like regular folk, but it's clear that that's somehow not an option. Something's keeping these people in - and almost everyone else out - and sending them all crazy. Including Sam, apparently.

He's pissed as all hell about how they ended up here, but it's clear that this is their kind of gig. These people brought him here to kill something, and he's damn well going to kill it.

'Okay...' he says slowly. 'If you want me to hunt monsters, you'll need to give me back my weapons. That means the guns I had on me, and I'll need to go and get my car.'

'The guns are no problem,' the woman says. 'The car though, that's no good. Can't have you going back out that way, might take it into your head to get in the car and drive in the opposite direction. You'll make do with what we have here.'

Dean can't argue with her reasoning, and he's not sure he wants to be driving his baby into crazytown anyway - it's bad enough being abducted himself, but if the locals decide that 'want it, take it' applies to the Impala he really will go crazy. Better just to kill this whatever it is and then get the fuck out of Dodge.

* * * * *

 

A couple of hours later, a whole bunch of guys show up with Dean's weapons and start giving orders about how he's got to kill this thing for them. They're very vague about exactly what it is he's supposed to be hunting, and Dean's still trying to get a crumb or two of useful information out of them when Sam starts muttering and twitching in his sleep. One of the guys - a big, bearded dude who looks like he's auditioning for the part of Davy Crockett - jerks his head in Sam's direction and says,

'Not quite right, is he?'

Dean regards his brother, sprawled out across the bed in a berry stained dress, skirt rucked up round his waist and shorts outlining parts of his anatomy Dean prefers not to regard too closely.

'No,' he says ruefully. 'He's really not.'

It would be almost comforting to find someone else who thinks Sam's mad, except he's pretty sure that they're not actually talking about the same thing.

He goes back to the fruitless attempt to convince the men that the big hairy thing they say's been stealing children from their beds can't possibly be a werewolf, since he's yet to meet the werewolf that could unlock doors while in its animal form. He's just moved on to explaining that werewolves probably aren't reponsible for the formation of crop circles in the autumn wheat, either, when Sam's muttering turns to full power nightmare screaming and he jerks bolt upright.

'Feeding the innocents to its maw!' he screeches, staring wildly around. His gaze fixes on Davy Crockett and he points a trembling finger at the man.

'You! You were there, betraying your people!'

His John Brown vehemence is rather undermined by the fact that his hair has fluffed up around his head in a manner more reminiscent of Doc Brown, but it still seems to be having an effect on Davy Crockett and friends, all of whom look ready to employ the punch in the mouth approach to conflict management. Way to go, Sammy.

Dean moves to pat Sam's arm and says apologetically, 'Like you said, he's not quite right.'

For a second it seems like that'll be enough to get them out of this, but then Sam swings round to point at the doctor lady.

'You too! Blood and ashes!' he booms.

The unruffled calm of her face melts away.

'Sorry, sorry,' says Dean hastily. 'My brother is....'

'A witch,' she says, and the atmosphere of the room's suddenly a whole lot more unfriendly.

* * * * *

 

The next thing Dean knows, they've dragged Sam outside and the doctor is pulling the rope of some big damn bell, yelling to people as they come out onto the streets.

He tries to elbow his way through to Sam, but can't make it past the heaving crowd, because everyone in the whole damn town appears to be packed into the square. Stands to reason that a town where they kidnap people to go monster-hunting for them would also believe in witches, he thinks sourly.

Sam just stands there, looking slightly dazed, and why the fuck didn't Dean look into this cross-dressing madness sooner? Clearly Sam abandoned every scrap of sanity the same place he discarded his pants.

For the first time in his life, Dean's actually pleased to see a sheriff arrive on the scene. He's a big, imposing guy, and unlike everyone around them he looks to be pretty calm. Maybe he's unaffected by whatever it is they're putting in the water around here.

He doesn't look surprised to see a 6 foot, 4 inches manchild wearing a berry-stained dress, though.

'What's going on here? Why have you knocked us all out of our beds?'

The doctor plants herself in front of the sheriff, hands on hips, and what the fuck is up with that, because surely doctors are supposed to be sane?

'The boy is a witch,' she says, jabbing a finger at Sam. 'He sees visions and spouts lies.'

Dean finally succeeds in pushing to the front of the crowd.

'Bullshit,' he says. 'Sam had a bad dream, that's all.'

He's bending the truth a bit, he knows, because that was a real vision if ever he saw one, but they don't need to be antagonising the good rednecks of Crazy, Nowhere, any more than they already have.

'I'm sure that's true,' the sheriff says kindly. 'You're not a witch, are you boy?'

Sam stares into space for the longest time, until Dean starts to wonder if he picked a few mushrooms along with those berries. Finally he says pleasantly,

'The last sheriff had an accident, fell down the cliff. You were with him.'

The sheriff's face turns white, then purple, and he splutters,

'This boy reads minds and spins falsehoods! He has had congress with The Beast!'

Dean's mind boggles slightly at this last statement, which is why he fails to react in time when the sheriff bellows,

'We will purge the devil from him. He must be purged. With fire!'

* * * * *

This truly is the most fucked up town in the long series of fucked up towns they've visited, because monsters are one thing, but who the fuck keeps a stake in the town square, ready-primed for witchburning?

Sam's gone limp and calm, and Dean's more sure than ever that he's been experimenting with the local herbs, because what's up with that when you're about to be burnt at the stake? He pushes and shoves his way over to the sheriff and his brother and tries for reason one last time.

'Dude, there's really no need for this. Untie him, I'll kill your monster, we'll be on our merry way.'

The sheriff lights a torch and holds it to the brushwood piled around the stake.

'God commands us to destroy this evil,' he says calmly. 'He's a witch. There is no other way.'

A flame catches onto the bottom of the pile, licking up towards Sam, and these people really are crazy if they think they can do this while Dean's still breathing. He draws his gun.

'I'll fucking kill you all!'

* * * * *

The rest of the evening's a bit of a blur, but the sheriff certainly doesn't make it out alive. Dean has a dim memory of some kind of snake thing curling up from his body when he shot him, and pretty soon after that a lot of the people on the square had started blinking and looking confused and a bit embarrassed. He guesses he killed their monster after all.

Breaking the mojo on the town also snaps Sam back to normality, although he's still pretty woozy for the next couple of days. He manages to mutter some vague thanks to Dean for getting him out more or less unscathed, but when pressed on the issue of how he managed to get under the spell in the first place he's strangely close-mouthed.

'Just don't ever talk to me about cross-dressing, man,' is all he'll say on the subject.

'No worries, dude,' Dean says, flashing his best big brother smile.

After all, he doesn't need to talk. He still has the photos.


End file.
